


but longing's all that's permanent

by summerstorm



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M, Season 2, Supernaturally Enhanced Senses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-11
Updated: 2011-11-11
Packaged: 2017-11-08 16:51:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/445376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerstorm/pseuds/summerstorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically: Tyler's new heightened sense of smell means he can tell when Caroline's turned on, and he's too new at the supernatural abilities thing to control it. Set (and written) in mid/late s2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	but longing's all that's permanent

**Author's Note:**

> These are three interconnected ficlets/scenes set in the same story (that I never wrote in its entirety). I put them up with chat transcripts of me talking about the story [here](http://summerstorm.dreamwidth.org/352704.html), if you want a little more context.

**I**

Caroline stares. It's going to take more than an explanation for her to process all of this. Tyler's been gone for weeks, and okay, so he's here now, but she can't be sure he's not going to leave again. It's not like he gave her a heads up last time. She just doesn't know what he expects her to do or say. Right now, he should—he should go, and give her some time. Space. A chance to figure out how she's feeling and if she's ready to look at him and not flash back to the moment he stood still when he should have been opening a cage door for her, or the moment he stood still when he should have been telling his beloved Jules to back off, or the moment he _didn't_ stand still when they should have had a normal conversation. 

Her nostrils may be flaring right now. Just a little bit. She presses her lips into a thin line and tries to get her face under control. Tyler hasn't made a move to leave. He hasn't even stopped looking at her. If he's waiting for her to forgive him on the spot, they're going to be here for a very long time.

She cocks her hips, and Tyler seems to react then, blinking and then breathing roughly through his nose. "So," he says, "are you dating Matt now, or—"

She laughs, dry, just once. "That is _none_ of your business."

"It kind of is," he says, scrunching up his face a little. She kind of wants to slap him. "I mean, we're friends, right?"

The first answer that comes to mind is _That's a great question, Tyler, why don't you tell me?_ The second one is _I don't know, do friends leave you at random without giving you a chance to talk them out of it?_ She could also say, _You're the one who's been doing soul-searching, maybe you should answer your own question_ , or a million other things that she can't bring herself to voice right now. 

By the time she opens her mouth, her chance has come and gone, and she chooses to leave the question unanswered. "You really need to leave," she says, walking towards the door. She doesn't mean for it to sound so cutting, it's just. It's hard to be nice to him. It's hard to strike the right balance between tentative forgiveness and letting him think he can be a horrible friend and a coward and trust strangers more than he trusted her and walk away unscathed. 

They never made it past the foyer, so his hand's on the doorknob within seconds. Before he opens the door, he turns to her and says, "Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—" He shakes his head vaguely. "I wasn't trying to intrude." Caroline doesn't say anything; he lets go of the door, standing taller and facing her straight on, and adds, "I just thought—"

"You thought what? That you could—waltz in here and apologize and I'd be all, 'Yes, Tyler, I missed you so much, please take me now'? I—I don't even know wha—"

"But you do," Tyler says, his tone earnest, and she can't help the look of confusion on her face. He walks in until he's standing inches away from her. She doesn't step away because—because she's surprised. Because she wants to know what he's doing. "I can tell—"

"I don't know what you're," she says, and has to clear her throat. Her shoulders roll back, and she becomes aware of how tense she is, the way her body's trying to draw into itself. She feels awkward, and on edge, and she wants him to leave so she'll stop feeling that way. "I don't know what you mean by that."

He looks down, just a glance, and his lids are still low when he meets her eyes again. "I can smell it."

"What?" she says, quiet, trying to figure out what he means. He's not—he says it softly, carefully, in a tone she can't make any sense of. "What does that even—"

"I can smell you," Tyler says, more firmly this time, emphasizing the words, his jaw set like it's taking him some effort to keep his voice even, and then he glances up at her again, widening his eyes meaningfully, licking his lips as an afterthought, and her mouth falls open.

"Oh," she says, "oh my god. What? Tyler, you can't—" _do that_ , he can't do that. It's just not okay to do. She's—she's tense, okay, and he's so close to her and she hasn't had sex in—wow, a really long time, and her body's interpreting everything the wrong way. It does that a lot. It's not like it's new or a vampire thing or something. She's used to this. 

She's not used to people being able to _tell_ when she's turned on, or she wouldn't have written it off as _something that happens_.

"I'm not _trying_ to," he says, stepping away, except about as soon as he does that he steps closer again, reaching for her waist and catching her forearm. "It's just so strong," he says, even closer now, so close their knees bump and their chests touch and oh my god, Caroline needs to step away right now. She can't do this. She can't stand here and let him—sniff her like she's some kind of—something you sniff. She needs to do something that isn't stay still with her mouth hanging open like she's dumb or something. She just can't believe this. This is so not a situation she ever pictured herself in.

"Tyler," she warns, her voice quiet, and maybe it's softer than she means it to, she doesn't know, but next thing she knows Tyler's moving his hand to her hips and using the other one to cup her jaw, the side of her neck, fingertips digging into the back, and his lips are touching hers and it's not kissing, it's not—he's just there, warm and present and Caroline wants— "Is this what you've been doing with Jules?" she asks, a whisper, breath bouncing off his mouth and over hers.

He snorts, not smiling. "Not like this." When he slides his tongue over his bottom lip, it brushes hers, and she can't even tell if it's an accident. She doesn't respond except for how she almost does, tilting her chin a fraction and really, really hoping he can't tell why—only of course he can, he can smell her, god. But this is not that simple. It's not that easy. Even if her body's not misreading signals now—even if right now the only reason she feels warm all over, stupidly needy, is having Tyler this close, this ready, this _aware_ of how she's feeling, and god, that should not be a turn-on—that doesn't invalidate all the reasons she didn't do this before. It certainly doesn't invalidate all the reasons she shouldn't do it now. 

Caroline's not dumb, or reckless; she knows how Tyler feels about her. She knows how Matt feels about her, underneath all the confusion he's not yet done parsing out. She doesn't know how _she_ feels about it all, and as much as right now she'd like to ignore everything and go with this, ignore everything that says this is a bad idea and every reason she has to be mad at Tyler, she's not horrible enough to string him along like that when she can't even tell if she'll regret it in the morning.

"Tyler," she says again, still quiet, still a warning all the same.

He ducks his head and nuzzles her cheek, the side of his nose brushing hers. She can feel him breathe. She can hear him inhale, and she feels her thighs twitch.

"Tyler, please stop," Caroline says, and Tyler steps back immediately, not a long way, but enough to break the tension, enough for Caroline to feel instantly relieved.

"I'm sorry," he blurts out, eyes wide like he's suddenly woken up from a weird dream, "fuck, that was so out of line. It went to my head. I'm sorry."

"It went to—what?" she says. It comes out sadder than confused, but seriously, this situation is so far out of her comprehension it's depressing.

Tyler's lids stretch down over his eyes, like he doesn't want to face her while he says, "I overfocus. I don't know why I do it. It just happens. It's just hard to control and I thought maybe you wanted—"

"I don't know what I _want_ ," Caroline says, with more bite this time, because he has no right to expect that from her. He has no right to make her feel bad about not knowing what she wants. At least nobody's lives are at stake from her not knowing if she wants Tyler like this, if she even wants him back in her life. 

She steps around him, elbowing him by accident with all the strength she'd use if she did it deliberately. It takes two steps for her to reach the door. She opens it quickly, wide, and stands by, a hand on her hips, waiting for him to leave.

"I'm," he begins again, another apology, but instead of saying it in its entirety, he just meets her eyes and walks straight out.

 

**II**

As soon as the door slams shut, Caroline drops her bag on a desk and fishes a tube of hand cream from behind her books. 

Tyler eyes her warily. "What are you doing?"

"Just hang on a second," she says, uncapping the tube and squeezing some of it—a lot, by her standards; she's sure she's going to regret this when she has to touch paper in a few minutes and her skin hasn't absorbed it all yet—into her palm. She smears it liberally over her hands and wrists, and then takes a step closer to Tyler and lifts her fingers to his nose. She holds them a couple of inches away; she has enough experience with being smothered to death to know it's not pleasant. It's close enough like this anyway. Better for her purposes.

"I still don't know what you're doing." Tyler's face scrunches up into a grimace when he catches a whiff of the cream.

Stifling a laugh, Caroline says in her best yoga instructor voice, "Focus on this."

He frowns at her, but doesn't pull away. After a few seconds, his hands curl around her wrists and he brings them closer, until her knuckles are digging into his cheeks and she can feel the dry drag of his lips on the edge of her hand.

She clears her throat and says, "This is kinda making me uncomfortable." The breath he takes sounds like it's shushing her. She's about to tell him how offensive that is when he starts nuzzling the inside of her wrist and along her forearm. It's—nothing, the words just kind of catch in her throat. She just didn't expect it; there's nothing else to it.

Before she knows it, he's trailing the tip of his nose along her arm, stopping when his mouth brushes her shoulder. Her hair pushes toward her neck with him so close, and she keeps still even though she has no real reason to. It just seems like the right thing to do, at least until he bares his teeth against her skin and she has to bite her lip to keep from making any embarrassing noises. It's still—he can probably tell she's getting turned on from this, and she has to resist the urge to cover her face with her hands. Even running away doesn't really feel like an option right now; she's stuck. Stuck while Tyler actually grazes her shoulder with his teeth as he noses along her collarbone, and there—yeah, that's his mouth on her neck.

He's not even doing anything. It should feel more awkward. He's practically sniffing her hair. In any other circumstances, that would be worse than awkward; it would be creepy as hell.

"I can smell your perfume," he says softly, his breath warm on her neck.

Something rises in her chest, and she has to swallow to keep her voice from coming out high-pitched. "I'm not wearing any perfume." It seems like an important remark to make. For what they're doing, which is—Caroline doesn't even know anymore. Testing Tyler's sense of smell or something. Well, she was trying to stifle it, but in the meanwhile she can help him figure it out.

"Leftover," he says, his nose bumping her ear. Keep still. "Traces," he goes on, and his mouth vibrates against her neck. Keep still keep still keep still. "Under shower gel."

"That's—that's good," she says, more like guesses, and does her best not to jump when she feels his hand on her hip.

He draws back a little, resting his forehead on her shoulder. Hooking his thumb around the waistband of her jeans, as if pointing to them, he says, "It's not as strong as—"

Now she does step back. "Tyler!" She's not shocked, she's not—she's not that kind of person. She doesn't mind that he knows, it's just—does it have to be like this?

"It's not like I can make it stop," he says, head still bent low, his thumb still hanging onto a belt loop. Caroline nods to herself and tries not to snap; it's not his fault, it's not his fault, Caroline's been there, too. Tyler makes the most of that point when he adds, "It's like hearing a fucking clock in the middle of the night—you just can't stop hearing it and it drives you insane."

"It's not—" she tries, licking her lips. Her mouth's a little dry. "It can't—is it really that bad?" She doesn't mean to step closer; she just sort of does, and he buries his face in her neck again and—growls, is he serious? 

She laughs. She laughs because she has to put a stop to this and it seems like the best time she's going to get to do that. 

"Tyler," she says, and his face falls lower, his mouth inappropriately close to her chest. "Tyler, stop. We're at school."

She hears him breathe in deep, and his knees— his knees wobble when he stands to his full height. For a moment, she wonders if he was planning to kneel before her in a classroom while school's still happening outside, but no. No, he was probably just overwhelmed. Which is still horrible for her composure. She forces herself to look up. At his face.

"I'm not really sorry," he says, cocking his head. She rolls her eyes and tries to move on.

"Did that work at all?" she asks, feeling a little bad that she probably made it worse.

He shrugs, but it looks forced. "Thanks for trying." He pulls out a chair and drops on it, which would be okay if it didn't make her think about why his legs were shaky again.

She watches him in silence for a while longer, just trying to figure out if there's something she could or should do, and then she grabs her bag and makes her way out.

 

**III**

She can't concentrate, so she sits down on the couch and starts watching the first movie with a lot of explosions that she comes across. Brainless entertainment, that's what she needs right now. She needs a distraction, and she needs it to be something she doesn't have to actually pay attention to. Because her mom's not home and—well, she's not sure it will help matters that much, but it can't possibly hurt if she eases off some of her ridiculous sexual frustration. 

The movie turns out to be a lot more engaging than she expected, though, and she's only just managed to warm up her hand when someone knocks on the door.

Her hand springs out of her pants faster than her brain registers her mom has keys and therefore wouldn't knock before coming in. Still. She shoves her hand down one of her pockets—she didn't even get around to partial nudity yet—and goes to open the door.

"Matt told me you kissed him," Tyler says instead of hello. She raises her eyebrows; she's not in the mood to deal with that kind of attitude right now.

"So you guys are friends again," she says. That's— actually that's a good thing, not unsympathetic to his plight at all. 

"We're not." Tyler closes his eyes like he doesn't want to acknowledge his own words.

Tonelessly: "Fascinating."

He stares at her for a few seconds and frowns, and then finally he is struck by divine inspiration or something and says, rolling his eyes, "I know it's none of my business." She nods slowly as he speaks. "And at least you're being honest about it."

"I really don't owe you anything," Caroline tells him, for good measure. If they were in a relationship, maybe. This doesn't preclude her feeling guilty for kind of stringing him along, but it does mean she can remind herself of all the times she's pretty obviously rejected Tyler and be angry at him for pushing his luck instead.

He rests a fist on the doorframe and closes his eyes for a moment. When he looks at her again, he seems tired. Not frustrated or on edge like she is, just—resigned. "You need to figure this out." It's matter-of-fact, mostly, except for the firm set of his mouth, his heavy lids. His voice states a fact like he's bored of hearing it, and the look on his face adds please.

"I know," she replies, soft now. That she can relate to.

A muffled crash seeps into the porch from the movie she was watching, and he peers over her shoulder and says, "Can I come in?"

She shrugs, opens the door the rest of the way and waits for him to walk in so she can close it. He kind of stops moving when the lock clicks, though, and when Caroline turns around, he's standing inches away from her and still not moving. She'd think it's deliberate, except that she feels kind of frozen on the spot herself. She rubs the edge of her pocket with her thumb, biting her lip, and looks at him.

His eyes are kind of really intense without even trying, and when she meets them they shift and settle on her mouth. She feels it go dry under that stare, and licks her lips before saying, unconvincingly even to herself, "You just need to stop."

"Stop what?" He sounds distracted, which isn't surprising at all.

"Stop—smelling me, I can't—" She breathes in and takes a step back, her voice louder when she goes on. "I can't make an informed decision about anything if you push me like that every time you think I'm interested. I can't. Just—stop."

He meets her eyes then, frowning a little. "Because you're not?" he asks, and what she hates about it is, beneath the incredulity there, he's really asking. She knows he's really asking, and she doesn't have an answer ready at all.

"Because I don't—" she mumbles, "I can't," and she looks up, and it's not like she consciously chooses to do it, it just—she can't help it. She can't help holding onto him, can't help cradling his face in her hands, can't help kissing him.

She doesn't even have time to regret it, anyway, because he kisses back immediately, coaxing her mouth open as he grabs her hips and pins her to the door. She mutters a curse as she leans back too hard, knocking her shoulders against the hard surface, but he doesn't back off; he mouths his way down her neck, sucking briefly at skin.

"Your perfume's all faded off," he says near her ear, nibbling at the lobe and licking behind it, drawing a whimper out of her.

"You need," she says, tries to say. It's not that easy when her body has designs of its own on what it wants to communicate to Tyler. "You need to stop smelling me."

He grabs her wrist and drags her hand—her—oh, fuck, that hand—from his shoulder to his mouth. "But you smell so good," he murmurs, breathlessly, the need in his voice making something ridiculous into such a turn-on, and sucks two of her fingers into his mouth.


End file.
